James Potter is the Dark Lord Reborn
by Samaulle Esun
Summary: James Potter, son of Harry Potter, makes friends with Salem Malfoy and they, much to everyones surprise, get sorted into Ravenclaw! Come on a journey with James as he discovers more about the dark side of the wizarding world than he perhaps should.
1. ch 1 treasure

I started this 6 months ago, planning it to be for an individual assignment for UNI. I've since developed a nasty case of schizophrenia and have subsequently changed field of study, to psychology, rather than creative industries (creative writing and cultural studies,) meaning that the continuation of this was no longer necessary. I am however and always will be interested in writing, and this piece, 10 000 words in, remains the tastiest of all my exploits so I will continue and see how it turns out :D

Ps. I write this as if there will be six sequels, so the first book will not be an epic all out fantastical affair—it will deal mostly with James and his friends, the exploration of their new world, and a journey into the darker side of the wizarding culture. Hope you enjoy and stay with me as I churn out chapter after chapter, becoming a better writer all the way! I will be doing a lot of reading on the site too, so point me in the right direction! Let me know if you wanna be a beta reader!

Preamble

_Pain, anguish, fear, sorrow, regret_. There was nothing else. _Searching, searching._ Where was the cure? He searched for what seemed like eons. Slimed his way through the pain of the lowliest of lows, scraped his being upon the highest peaks of his jagged regrets. Suddenly he was gaining pace. He was becoming freer? Faster! Faster!

"Here it comes, Ginerva. Push! Push!"

'I CANT,' she screams.

'Just a little further, Ginny'

'Shut it, I CAAAAAAANT,' but she's only screaming for the sake of it now.

A pause. Harry feels a moment of intense vertigo. 'It's not crying, why isn't it crying?' He represses the urge to hyperventilate as some innate sense of decorum kicks in. His mind flickers for a moment, reviewing the notion with its lick of irony.

Silence. The doctor wipes his forehead. Takes a moment to check the pulse. 'I… it's a boy Harry. Congratulations!'

'A boy? A boy!' He forgets his fears as a rush of bittersweet love fills his eyes with tears.

'James,' Ginny says to the silent boy she's been handed and is now holding. James stares into Harry's' eyes, unsmiling, unblinking.

Ch 1

Witch Circles

It was soon discovered that James was a very different boy. Now it is important that you understand this. Not only after his birth was this discovered but as a natural progression this was _usually_ discovered, and usually very quickly, because James was a very different boy.

Presently, he was drawing with chalk inside a tent that sat in the corner of his room. The tent, much like all bits and pieces of the wizarding world, was something remarkable to be noted about, for inside the tent was much more space than the outside of the tent appeared to suggest. The tent itself was one the family used for whenever they stayed at the hollow, where the Weasely's lived—which was so convoluted around times such as these, due to the forever growing family, that they no longer had the space for their daughter Ginny and her family. The tent thus, now tattered from the frequent use, had seen better days.

Inside this tent there were boards of melamine stacked against walls and patch-worked on the floors. The furniture had been magically shifted into the storage chest, which stood solid and wooden at the very back of the raised floor of the dining room. On the boards were circles of chalk, drawn painstakingly over a period of several months.

They were spells of many kinds these chalk circles, but they were of a particular nature. They were circles of power. Witch circles. An archaic brand of wizardry, one that James had dedicated most of the past three months to ever since the portrait of Dumbledore had taken it upon himself to suggest a new hobby for the boy to detract from the incidents that kept on arising from the Persian war staff James had received for his birthday.

James knelt on hand and knee, his long black hair with its flicker of crimson hung ratty and for a few days unwashed. Books from the Hogwarts library and from Dumbledore old private collection, retrieved from old colleagues, lay littered and mostly ill-kept around him.

It was a hard process, made even more difficult by the fact that he could not try out the spells due to the ministry of magic's 51st decree, which stated that _no underage wizard or witch may perform spells without the supervision of a qualified professor_, or at an appropriate time, which was namely at school. And James would be starting school this year. He was actually waiting to visit Diagon Alley that very day to purchase the books and equipment detailed on the letter that had come via owl, along with the daily prophet and the witches weekly all but a few days ago.

This had been his daily ritual for as long as he could remember: to get up in the morning, to read the daily prophet which lay on the table, rippled and creased from the usage of both Ginny and Harry previously, then to eat his breakfast. After this, these days, he would retreat into his room to continue with another circle, which would be finished within the day, archived and stacked along the wall with the others. Sometimes he'd take calls from his muggle school friends on the magically rigged telephone he had hooked up in his room alongside the muggle TV, stereo system and Sega master system (all magically powered by Hendrix's power profibulator). In this way, today was what was planned to be a usual day, however, today, the mail hadn't come.

There was a soft call from outside the tent. 'James?'

James didn't stir for a moment. He hung in the suspension of the fact that he didn't want to leave his work just yet but was also aware of the fact that he'd just been called. If he waited just a little while longer he was likely to be called again.

'James?'

He lurched up, scarecrow like, stubborn and peeved, but shook himself of that and marched out of the tent to face whatever mystery awaited him. He walked to the door and opened it. The hallway was bare and as crooked and dusty as ever, not to mention cluttered with rugs and pot plants and magical and muggle artifacts alike that his father and grandfather vied for space for.

'James?' The voice was no more impatient than before. In fact, it was complacent and irritatingly passive. The kind of irritation that brings on laughter when one is trying not to laugh but cannot help it. The strangest thing about this voice was that it was coming, not from the kitchen, but further down the hall: from James's room itself.

'Dumbledore,' James awed to no one but himself. Professor Dumbledore, known as that by most with the ability to recall him, was dead. The ex Hogwarts headmaster had, upon his death, gifted a select few with his portrait. The potters owned one of the five. The most significant thing about this portrait, and indeed all such portraits of the wizarding world, was that it talked and moved and tended to do so quite frequently.

Dumbledore must have been a most peculiar fellow, thought James. James had never known the man but had grown to know the portrait quite well. The Dumbledore of the portrait had taken quite a liking to appearing in the poster of James favorite band, the pumpkin heads. Whenever this happened, James would be delighted, and delight was something that James could proudly say he hardly ever had the misfortune of experiencing.

James wondered back into the room like a puppy and sat on his four poster bed, sinking quite a way into the voluptuous blood red doona. What had taken Dumbledore over from Hogwarts into Harry's study, and through the paintings of the hallway of their crooked old house into James's poster? Hogwarts would be a busy and interesting place these days—what, with the start of the school year next week and all! No doubt Dumbledore would have a lot to busy himself with. The old professor stood unmoving by the lead singer of the pumpkin heads who had a giant pumpkin stuck on his head with mean looking eyes and a jagged mouth cut into it. His name was Henry. He regarded Dumbledore with suspicion.

"Hello, James," said Dumbledore

"Hi, Dumbledore."

"You are well?"

"Yes."

"Excited about the upcoming school year then?

"Yes."

'You are enjoying those books I acquired for you, I trust?'

James nodded. Dumbledore nodded, slightly recumbent as if pleased with a business deal.

'Oh… that's good then… Have you yet tried the sepentra circle of sleep? I hear that is a most powerful spell, needn't even be activated to gain use of its power to put one to sleep.'

'Oh… no. Not yet. I sleep fine enough as it is.'

Dumbledore sighed and stroked his Merlin beard as he looked down to his feet. He appeared to be searching for some way to better hold James'.... He of a sudden looked up with a sparkle in his eye. 'The death eaters mounted an attack on the central post office this morning.'

'Really?' James asked, taken. The death eaters, regardless of the fall of Voldemort, still maintained their activities till the present day, but were for more of a secret society of purebloods these days than an ugly monster. Only, from time to time, they played pranks on the ministry as a celebration of power.

'Yes,' he chuckled, 'I suspect it was a prank designed to christen the first years for the coming school year. No doubt _they_ had a hand in it as well.'

James had always been interested in the activities of death eaters. He was frightened of them, but fatally attracted to the notion of them. Dumbledore was historically cautious of saying anything about the death eaters to James lest he get inspired, but had more recently failed to the charms of the young, eager boy.

'How did they do it?' he asked of Dumbledore.

'Quite an ingenious design—they sent cursed coins to the mailing office which then turned into little golden owls that raced around the office tearing at mail and pecking at the real owls. I was fortunate enough to hear word of it early on from Hageldus Quaterforth of _the third portrait on the left in the entrance hall of the post office _so I caught most of the spectacle myself. Word has it they shredded most of the daily prophet for today.'

'Oh?'

'Yes, and Mr. Malfoy is donating the cost of the losses to the daily prophet, which is no small feat. However, he still denies knowing anything about the death eaters, and denies he has anything to do with them, although we, of the Hogwarts principal portraits, think differently on that account.'

From through the open door there was a smell wafting in from down the hallway. And down at the end of said which hallway there was a smell wafting in from the kitchen. A rich, saucy smell. Pancakes, bacon rashes and eggs floated from the kitchen bench over to the table where Harry sat with his head flat on the thick wooden bulk of it and his hands pushed into the short, scruffy locks of his hair. He wasn't hungry.

Ginny sat and begun styling Harry's hair into spikes and ruffles with her wand. She knew what was the matter, but was tired of Harry's mood, and his insistence that the matter, which was the matter, was not the matter at all, and that nothing was the matter. It was impossible to convince Ginny of this. He knew this, she knew this. She knew she knew this more than he. She saw more of _him_ in her stubborn and strange son than _he_ _cared to admit_.

'Eat your bacon.'

'Call James!'

'Eat your bacon.'

'I'm not hungry.'

'Is it even that bad Harry?'

He scowled up at her. 'It's not bad, I never said it was bad.'

'But you're disappointed…'

'We don't even know yet!'

'So you admit that you will be disappointed.'

'Are you implying that there's not even a chance?'

'You can't let him know you're not proud of him.'

He growled. 'He'll have the choice. I know it. He'll have the choice like I did. The hat will sing its song, his name will be called, and he'll get the choice.'

'But it's the choice you're worried about.' It was a guess. A question. She was trying to understand him. If she could understand him then she could get under his skin, and if she could get under his skin then she could fix him.

'YES.'

She blew out impatiently. 'Eat your bacon.'

'I don't want bacon. I want pancakes. Bring me the maple syrup.'

'Smells great in here!' James had walked in.

'Oh, James! Want some bacon?'

'Bacon? M'mm. oil. Sounds good, Mum. What are you two arguing about? I heard it from down the hall." Harry and Ginny looked about themselves, abashed, but didn't say anything. 'Dumbledore's just called,' James continued. 'Says that the death eaters attacked the post office.' He snickered and looked from one parent to the other but neither saw the humour in it. He sat down and begun with his breakfast.

They always had bacon and pancakes on Sundays. It was part of the weekly routine. Hermione was always talking about routine and the necessity of cleanliness. Ginny dearly needed it, because, in all honesty, she was a complete grot, caring only for cooking and cross-stitch. Everything else was paltry at best to Ginny, The family had decided on this one innovation, this one Sunday a week, as a mainstay and a must for the potters. Harry, too, was untidy at the best of times, but his shed was as scatty as hell! Jumbles upon jumbles of assorted crap was crammed into it: machinery parts for Sirius's bike, which he was forever trying to put back together; Bottles of pickled olives from the tree in the orchard; old school books and broken brooms, and a many manner of things like decanting sets and leaky cauldrons and a long shelf full of drawers and compartments completely jam packed with magical ingredients, all of which he absolutely refused to throw out or sell.

Sunday was the day when the family would come over to visit. They would have either a late lunch or dinner, and then they would stick around for re-runs of Sabrina the teenage witch. James would admit he rather fancied her from time to time, sitting square in front of the box in the jarrah and rammed earth lounge room on the bean bag which had been absolutely adored into ruins.

Every Sunday without fail, they'd come. Sometimes early enough to hear the hymns from the little church that stood across the way serenade their little countryside neighbourhood, sometimes not. But not this Sunday. This Sunday was special. They were all to head to Diagon alley, the busy magical markets which lay hidden in the middle of London. Which was, of course, invisible to anyone but the magical folk themselves. The Sabbath was its busiest day. And this one especially so.

Lily emerged from her haven of pink and blue cushions and doonas and fluffy bunnies and fairy mobiles and posters of proud unicorns and pretty princesses. She scowled at James, then sat down delectably. This made James snicker through his nose and into his meal.

'Mum, can you tell James to stop eating so loudly?'

'I'm not though, Lily!' he whined sorrowfully.

'Mum, can you ask Lily to be quiet,' Albus asked matter-of-factly as he wondered wearily into the room, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with a fat little curled fist. 'Her voice is so… so _abrasive_.

'Nice one, Sev,' James laughed in disbelief, his sides feeling like splitting with the effort from this early morning affront on his tightly packed stomach. It was advisable, he now claimed to himself in his head, that one should not laugh with a full stomach for they were likely to drown in tears and have their sides split and their guts spilled out onto the floor.

James would often devise these words of wisdom to himself and commit them to memory. His parents were quite sick of them, but Albus, his youngest sibling, was absolutely fond of them.

Albus was a genius, but rather peculiar at the best of times, and geniusly funny, but not for the reasons that he thought. As soon as he had first discovered how funny he was he'd taken to learning jokes so he could perform them, but these jokes were so poorly chosen and terribly played out that they were perhaps more hilarious for the inherent ridiculousness of this irony. He had not quite grasped his fatal flaw, but was in the stages of it, James assumed. This was, however, no issue for him, and wouldn't be when he finally discovered the apparent soberness of his wit, for Albus was far more interested in his studies and was in the top of all his classes at muggle school, and was making his way through a good lot of those books that James kept on borrowing from Dumbledore.

James himself, having no such aptitude, honed his talents instead through his copious amounts of practice; and this, was perhaps James's biggest talent. His endurance was of legendary scope and measure. Much like his aunt Hermione's. He was most proficient at scheduling too. A clear timetable would always be balancing and shuffling in his mind, and his punctuality was nothing short of magical. The TV would be turned on at exactly the right moment, his bread would pop out of the toaster just as his eggs were boiled. On those weekends when Harry would work late, James would be at the foot of the fireplace with a mug of coco just as Harry flooed in, tired from a day office in the underground ministry of magic building, aurors department.

'So James,' Lily began, rolling her pancake in what little maple syrup there was, after likely about a minute of conversation planning. 'Are you excited about your trip to Diagon alley for today?'

'Yes, most,' James returned pompously.

Ginny sniggered from across the table and almost knocked over the syrup she was reaching for. Albus looked up in confusion.

Lily cleared her throat. 'Oh. I expect you'll see cousin Victoire there, too.' Lily did this from time to time. She appeared to think she was a lady from the 18th century the way she pranced about sometimes. Maybe it was her complex about not being as beautiful as Victoire their cousin, Bill and Fleurs second and youngest child, or maybe she was just daft. Either way it amused the hell out of James. However, he didn't like to rile his sister up too much, she was after-all quite sensitive, so instead of another nasty reply, he dealt out a casual conversation starter.

'We'll see most of the family there. We've planned to have some ice-cream. And then some lunch, isn't that right, Scarface.' James called his father that sometimes, after the Brian De Palma film starring Al Pacino. This tragedy for Harry was born out of James's incessant love for muggle films, and he was perhaps one of the only wizards able to make the connection, but never the less it had caught on like a wild fire at the office ever since father-son day six years prior. James hadn't watched it at this time, of course, but he'd read about it in one of the film magazines that his grandfather Arthur kept stashed away in the attic at the Hollow. James had loved to nose around in the attic when he'd been younger and not so interested in adult conversation.

Harry looked up mournfully. He was already drained from the long shift he'd had to work the night before, and as a prank James had put coffee in his coco when he'd returned home, so unfortunately he'd had a total of one hours sleep, and scattered at that. Ginny was in no mind to let him sleep in either, for the chickens needed feeding, and the ripe fruit picking, and she didn't have the mind to do these things alone.

'Yes, we're going to Amber's Ambrosia once all the shoppings done.' He looked at James, that kind of _Harry_ smile on his face. 'It's a new place. It has just opened. Kursk's father Theodore told me about it. He say's it's absolutely fantastic. The chef there's French, fresh in from France. Has to have one of those Translator charms cast on him every day. He was quite paranoid when he first arrived and apparently put up a grand fight of counter curses when he thought he was being attacked and about to be kidnapped for his recipes'

'Well, no arguments here. It'll be nice to break it in.' It wasn't totally clear what Albus meant by this.

'I was thinking perhaps we could go visit Treasure before we get to Diagon alley,' Lily suggested. Treasure was a Unicorn, and Lily was part of a young witch trotting club. All the lucky girls were. It wasn't house particular, as many of the social clubs used to be in the old days, but it was specific about the fact that no muggles were allowed to join or even know of the existence of the Withers Valley Trotting Club. It was quite a time consuming affair. Since the unicorn was only young, they kept it at the club, but in only one years time she would be able to take it home to pasture out back with the horses, and stable alongside Buckbeak's son Killfeather, the hippogriff.

'No, I think you've had enough of Treasure for one week.' Albus, perhaps because he was the youngest and doted upon by Ginny much too much, rather thought he was in control of the family and right to offer suggestion whenever he had a sentence at the ready, and was deliberately contrary to Lily most the time and for no reason that either of Harry and Ginny could see. Lily minded little. It was her older brother that could get to her with ease. James was usually careful about her feelings, but every so often he'd zing her good, falling into the loving arms of his own hysterical comic genius after he did so, the sweet sound of Lily's maniacal yelling and blame throwing and cursing, music to his ears.

'I think that'd be fine, love. What do you think, dear.' Harry was on auto pilot, staring at the crumbs of pancake remaining on his plate, dipping his pinky into the pool of maple syrup on the plate every so often. He didn't know why he was using his pinky. It wasn't like it was a ritual or anything. Usually he didn't play with his food.

Why was he so insistent on acting strangely this morning. She didn't want him to confuse the boy. 'Sure, I think that's a great idea. Clean up, Lily!' She called as if she was a drill sergeant and her daughter a soldier. Lily moaned and collected the dished with her bare hands, because of course Lily wasn't old enough to use magic yet. Not even in her own house.


	2. ch 2 the bracelet

So here is chapter two. I've been raking it over and it seems to flow now. It used to be part of chapter one—but at that point chapter one was much too long. So here it is, another rambling entry to the story called "James Potter is the Dark Lord Reborn." (Corny, I know, but it seems to fit :D) Salem and Kursk are introduced in this chapter and I think I handled those scenes quite well :D V.v.v proud of one small bit of it each, feel free to guess which bits :D

Ch 2 Hidden Treasure

The car trip to the Withers Trotting Club wasn't very close by but it was at least on the way to London. James expected it'd be a long car ride so he took one of the magical sketch quills that George sold at his joke shop _drop dead jokes incorporated_, which had a movement charm cast on it that would animate sketches with a swish of the feather side of the quill once an image was finished. First, he drew in his trusty black note pad himself lopping off Albus's head and then showed it to his sister, which made her scream. Then he took his time on Treasure the unicorn. It wasn't finished when they reached the club. The ride had been too bumpy and the sketch too detailed.

The last stretch of the trip was about a mile of gravel road which Harry drove particularly slowly, like he always did, to save the deep purple paint job of his Rolls-Royce from suffering the damage of the flying rocks that would flick up from the ground if the tires drove over them too quickly. He was careful of overhanging branches too, steering expertly between potholes and low hanging branches.

The soft green canopy of the trees by the road side sent flecks of sunlight tunneling through the dust and shone little circular spotlights on the windscreen that rolled over the smooth glass. Weeping willows most of them, growing naturally along the verge of the road, life spans stretching perpetually from the past and into the future. Great, strong knobbly artifacts from the ancient past. Lichen stricken, and with their rotting wounds full of slaters and tunneling bugs.

The smell was glorious and full of nostalgic value. James loved coming here—for the talent of the unicorns and their riders also, but mostly for the glorious richness of the country side. He had spent many afternoons galloping through the private forests of the vast acreage of the club on Kindle.

She munched hay, so James, alone now and separated from the family, grabbed an apple from the basket and offered it to Kindle. The family was already out on the grounds with Treasure. Kindle wasn't James's, she was the clubs. Being an old Mare, Kindle wasn't the fastest Unicorn at the club, but she was very domestic and friendly. Her horn was long and regularly charmed into invisibility in case it were seen by a muggle stranger in the woods. She took the apple and munched it gratefully.

A guard walked past and eyed James suspiciously. There were always guards patrolling the stables, day and night. That was half the reason it was so expensive to be a member. Unicorn blood was a type of elixir, a life extender. To drink it was to rejuvenate your youth, but it was said that whosoever did drink their blood for this purpose would be cursed. That's why there were guards here. To protect their Unicorns from the terrible fate of being drunk.

James gave Kindle a good, hard pat, then strolled down to the end of the stable on the gritty hay-covered ground and out into the fenced off equestrian grid. He saw Kursk Vitriole, the daughter of his father's work mate, the Auror Theodore Vitriole, jumping poles which were balanced on the sides of barrels. She'd been a member for longer than Lily and was much more skilled. Her mount, Shimmer, was at least six years old. Theodore was much older than Harry and had been a prefect for Ravenclaw in the year Harry had first come to Hogwarts. Kursk herself was James's age but the two got on famously badly.

James remembered the first time the two met. He'd caused Shimmer to freak and throw her off and Kursk'd broken her arm. It didn't help matters that he'd since developed a crush on her, for this drove him to try speak to her very often, and she completely despised him for it. He smiled as he watched her. She was as beautiful as a vela in his opinion. Precise and strong in her movements, Clever and bitter in her mannerisms—feisty, exactly his type. She had a slight lisp and it was as if her tongue were so sharp that somewhere along the line it had cut itself into a fork. She hadn't noticed him yet, but as she rounded to take the next jump she spotted him, pulling her reigns back so that her unicorn stopped. She stood, and for a second the sky seemed to darken and spit pellets of water. She scowled at him, rounded, then left the field at a gallop. It didn't matter. He'd see her at school. She couldn't escape from him there!

Back in the car an argument had started.

'Yes, he must be put down.'

'No!'

'I tell you, Lily, for your own good.'

James was in hysterics and Harry kept his head down and continued to drive as Albus entertained them all.

'Mum, tell him that Treasure isn't going to be put down, tell him.'

'Is there any use, Lily?' she replied, amused.

'Yes, Lily, is there?' asked Albus very sincerely. 'I tell you, if we don't put the poor think down then Killfeather will be sure to have it when it arrives. I tell you, father, it will be much less emotionally scarring for the poor thing if we get it over with quickly.' What he meant by "the poor thing" was most obviously his older sister.

'WE ARE NOT GOING TO PUT THE BLOODY THING DOWN!' This, she screamed at the top of her voice. Her eyes were full with tears of exasperation and frustration with her annoying little brother, and James was sure that she'd like nothing more at that moment than to put _him_ down. James got back to his sketch. The flank was coming along nicely. He hoped to finish it soon so he could see how well the muscles emulated the way that Treasures flexed when she ran. Below, he'd written this:

_Treasure runs, treasure glides_

_Hidden hidden, bidden bidden_

_Treasure inside_

_is the treasure that hides_

_treasure inside_

When they made park at some unremarkable parking lot a few blocks away from the leaky cauldron James was still puzzling at the poem he'd written. Above it Treasure galloped noiselessly. Something was familiar about the poem. It was no secret amongst wizards that poems were often very powerful prophetic tools, but what did this one mean? what could it mean? it was so simple, yet. It piqued him in a way that he had not been piqued in a long while. He was still wondering when there was this giant _crash_ on his passenger-side window.

'Jay!'

It was one of his muggle school friends. His eyes were very red.

'Is that Jay? Jay!' There were a few of them. He slapped his pad closed and pocketed it along with the quill.

'Why are you dressed like that?'

'…hippie convention…'

He gulped and looked to his parents apologetically. They were all dressed in robes. Dressing like wizards was something that wizard folk liked to do when they went about their wizarding business. It was even possible for wizarding folk to never wear conventional muggle clothing, for they were able to buy even groceries from wizarding sources. Usually, folk in robes were missed by the untrained Muggle eye because of the serious concealment charms that were cast upon them, but James's friends knew the car, and when they looked inside they saw all of them in their full wizarding gear and it would have looked quite unconventional.

They looked suspicious of him, but all of a sudden Harry flicked out his wand and said _confundo_. He had preformed the Confundus Charm. The pack of boys turned and continued onward, talking amongst themselves as if nothing had happened.

'Thanks, dad,' Muttered James, abashed.

'That's alright, son. Come on, kids, out of the car.'

What were the chances of running into his school friends so far from home and in a city as big as this? He understood why he hadn't been invited, they were all a year his senior, but he supposed he should have taken the time to say his final good-bye, he wouldn't be seeing them again. He would be at Hogwarts before the week was out. No big, he figured. He skipped across the car park and pressed the button at the street lights. Albus sprinted up to him, grinning.

'What flavour are you going to get, James?'

'Dunno yet, Sev.'

'How 'bout you, Lily?'

'Mmm, maybe bubble gum.'

'Aw cummon,' Albus protested, 'That's not very interesting. Is only THE BEST ice cream shop EVER!'

'Well what're you gonna get then? You think you're so smart!' Lily barked to her older brother.

'Guano'

Lily wretched. James concentrated on his little brother. 'Are you sure that's a flavour, Sev?'

'Yup. Had it last Christmas.'

Ginerva arrived just as the little walking man turned green and they all hurtled across the street in amongst the throng of business suits and emo kids, not gaining anyone's attention at all. Harry wasn't with them. Ginny explained on the way that he had something to go get from Grimauld place, which wasn't, of course, their place of residence, but it was their property—handed down by Sirius to Harry after his uncles death. Harry felt the place held too many sad memories so it was otherwise unoccupied but he did tend to keep a lot of stuff there. What, James was unsure. He'd only been there a few times and only into the entry hall and into the family tree room. It was dusty and mucky. The house elf, Kreature, who used to take care of those things was now dead.

Diagon alley was a busy place at the best of times. The good thing about the place was that one never needed to go there much. The bad thing was it was ever so packed. Such a small area. So, when Sabbath came around it was like trying to move around in a tin of sardines at star wars convention.

There were tonnes of stalls out today. One he saw was selling charms and trinkets. James had a few sickles in his pocket, so he slunk to the back of their pack and walked over to a trinkets stall.

'How are ya today, lad.' He was a haggard old man.

'James nodded silently, and looked about at the various sundries. There were rings, bracelets, necklaces, all notated with what charms they contained. Safety charms, inconspicuousity charms, love charms. Something caught his attention. It read:

_Talking bracelet. Takes one year to quicken. 1 galleon._

He'd allocated one galleon to free spending and he'd been hoping to spend it at his uncle Georges, but a talking bracelet…

'What can you tell me about this one,' James asked, pointing to the bracelet.

'Ah,' said the very old man, retrieving it and lifting it close to his squinting eyes as if inspecting it for the very first time.

This is a very special piece. Made from the wood of a sea serpent cocoon from the far west.'

'Sea serpent, hey?'

'Yes. You wear it for one year and a face will emerge, your face usually. Sometimes the face of someone you think about often. And it will act much like a portrait. It's a lucky charm, lad. Old magic, very old magic.'

'So it takes a good year for it to work?' James asked, taking it from the man and inspecting it greedily. The strap was woven leather and the wood was a blank medallion around the same size as a wrist watch.

'Yes.'

'I'll take it.' He scrimmaged in his pocket for the coins and forked them over, then ran off into the crowd. Clutching his new gadget tightly to make sure he didn't drop it, he looked for his family. He didn't find them after a moment or two of scanning, so he made his way to Florean Fortescue's ice-cream parlour. When he spotted them he grinned. He made the quick decision of pocketing the bracelet on the inside pocket of his robe then walked up to the outside table that the family were sitting at, all licking their ice-creams and talking to one another.

There was uncle Ron, auntie Hermione and their twins Hugo and Rose, and James' grandparents Arthur and Molly Weasely. George was working and his family were presumably at home. Teddy (Tonks and Remus's orphan) was on his way, Ginny told James this when he gave her a squeeze on her shoulder and sat down by her. Teddy was going to help James find his supplies, they'd organised it last Sunday, Teddy was in sixth year now and had just finished his Ordinary Wizarding Levels the year prior.

'I got this for you, James.' She handed him his ice-cream. It was a triple decker, with red blue and green. 'It's called a quantum quaffle.'

'Thanks mum,' he said, and started licking. 'Hi Rose, hi Hugo,' he said to the twins, beaming at them.

'Hi James,' they said in unison. They were a cute pair. Both with auburn hair and brown freckles. They looked more Weasely than James, Albus and Lily were.

'You excited about Hogwarts this year?' They asked.

'Sure, it'll be great.'

'What house you think you'll be in.'

'Gryffindor most likely.'

'Cool.'

'I just hope I'm not in Hufflepuff.'

The family laughed.

'Now now, James,' tittered Hermione, 'Hufflepuff is a very good house, full of kind hearted, helpful people. It's nothing to be ashamed of!'

'She's right you know, James.'

'Thanks, Sev,' James snorted.

'Oh, that reminds me,' Said Hermione, surprising herself, 'did you hear about the attack on the central post office?'

Ginny nodded.

'Terrible isn't it. To think the death eaters have survived the fall of their leader. Harry should really keep as up to date on that file as possible.'

'It's not really his field. Harry deals with dangerous criminals and crimes involving muggles. The Death eaters are only a secret society who play pranks.' This came from Ginny.

'Yes, but what will be next! Soon they'll gain confidence and we'll have another dark lord on our hands. Just think, Ginny.'

Hermione hoffed and shook her head. Ron was peering at her cynically, too cautious to say anything unless it was perceived that he was backing up his sister. Hermione was often made the laughing stock due to her ultra altruism and strict, almost paranoid morals. She did many things that the rest of them perceived as peculiar, especially by Molly who had taken to breaching conversations with unsuspecting family members about what _it was doing to the children_ every time she had one of them cornered. James didn't think that the motivation behind her actions were too questionable, but he was glad that the rules weren't his own. He couldn't imagine how annoying life would be if his mother were as nagging and insistent as Hermione. His father was lax as well. James supposed that Harry was only afraid of his kids having a childhood as difficult as his had been.

'Hm,' said Ginny.

'Do you know how they did it,' James asked of his auntie Hermione.

'Rogue owl's, wasn't it?'

'Golden coins which turned into owls.'

'Ah,' she said, musing, and reclining further into her chair. 'Who told you? Mrs Pettyfen told me, from over the fence, when she and I were doing our gardening this morning. Her great-great uncle is a portrait on the wall of the post office, you see. He rushed in and let the family know at once, and actually angled his specs so that they could just make out the kafuffle in the background. Truly drastic. What will people be doing without their daily paper? I can't imagine!'

'I know _I_ missed it,' James said charmingly.

Hermione laughed.

'Of course _you _would have missed it,' Ron said sarcastically.

James scowled in jest and scrumpled a napkin which he then threw at his uncle, which inspired Ron to throw it back, and suddenly the table was violent with sailing napkins and cubes of sugar from the complimentary bowl at the middle of the table. Albus somewhere along the line took a piece of sugar and hurled it at his sister across the table and it hit her square in the eye, which made her howl in pain and begin to cry. At this point the adults thought they'd better stop, so they settled their children and suggested that they continue licking their ice-creams in silence.

One by one, the table members left. First, The children Rose and Hugo, skipping at their parents heels, tagging and giggling, ice-creams melting in their warm, chubby little hands. Then his mother and his siblings too. And there, James was left to himself, waiting for Teddy.

He flipped open his note book, and took out a loose bit of paper, that read:

_Defence against the dark arts for beginners_

_Hogwarts, a history_

_Tarot for beginners_

_Herb's herbology_

_Plebeian Potions_

_One potions starter kit_

_One athame_

_One wand_

_(the rest of the books and broomstick will be provided, but a bond_

_Fee of one galleon will be required.)_

He'd be able to find the books at Flourish and Blotts. That was no issue. The wand from Ollivander's. The potions starter kit from the cauldron shop. But the athame he'd have to find in knock turn alley at the knife shop. No big. He'd be with Teddy at that time. He'd be safe.

He took out the bracelet. It was a beautiful, well crafted object. The face of the serpent cocoon wood was embedded with an iron border. All in all, it looked impossible to break. He slipped it on and it immediately tightened around his wrist. Odd, he thought. Slowly, a small shape like a face rose from its surface. It was hardly perceivable but, there; there was the grim outline of an eye, a nose, a mouth. A handsome face, nothing like his own. Its eyes were closed. His wrist was stinging.

He shook his hand in pain and tried to wrench the thing off but it wouldn't budge. Slowly, the pain dissipated. But the face had grown more defined still.

A swirl of red graced its surface, then it returned to its usual colour and the face sunk out of focus, and the wood was plain and flat once more.

_But how do I get it off_, he thought.

It had been one long half an hour, so James headed off by himself. He'd never walked these streets alone, so he did it quietly, smiling a small cautious smile. He felt very brightly. All around him were faces he'd seen before. All beaming at him as he went. Hey there, lad, they'd say. Excited? He'd nod back at them and smile joyfully, continuing on his way. First, he went to Gringotts and retrieved the sum of money he'd organised for them to hold at the front desk. Then he continued on to Ollivander's.

Ollivander was busy serving a customer, so he sat on the couch provided and waited.

'This one has the toenail of a troll in its tip.' Ollivander handed it over to the blonde haired boy.

'Troll toenails? How interesting,' he said marvellously. The boy looked over to where James sat. 'Would you believe it! Toe nails!' He gave it a swish but nothing happened.

Ollivander hobbled into the back holding four or five boxes, for he was very old by now, and disappeared from sight, cursing under his breath.

'He's been back there so many times,' the boy laughed. 'I can't seem to make them work for me. He say's I'm a squib, or else one would have been perfect for me by now.'

The boy and James regarded each other for a few moments, then the boy walked over to the chair and stuck out his hand. 'My names Salem. What's yours?'

'I'm James,' said James. 'Pleased to meet you.'

Ollivander had come out again, holding a mountain of boxes this time.

'Try these out, Malfoy.'

_Malfoy,_ gasped James.

'Did you say something?' Salem asked quietly, pausing before he walked back to the desk, frowning suddenly very seriously.

James shook his head, embarrassed. Salem had heard him. Then his wrist hurt again like before. 'Ow!' He cried out, grasping it.

Ollivander looked at him sternly. He wasn't in a good mood. 'Come here, both of you. I've grabbed some out for you too, Potter.'

_Potter_, Salem scowled, eyes cautious. James rose and walked over to the desk. At this, Ollivander handed them both a box.

'Why isn't your father with you, boy?'

'He's at Grimauld place to pick up something.

'Too bad. I would have loved to have seen _that_ wand again. Phoenix feather, if I'm not mistaken. That phoenix gave only one other, you know. And that wand went to the man who gave your father _that scar.' _James was familiar with the story.

Just as James was opening his box, Ollivander stopped.

'Wait, lad. I have a better idea. A bit more expensive, yes. And very rare. It refuses to work for some. _Let us at least try__, shall we?_' He looked at them very meaningfully.

Salem lifted his index finger for attention then swished his wand, and to his dismay there was no result. 'Oh damn, not another.'

Ollivander returned, and whispering, said: 'Here, boy. Carved from sea serpent cocoon. Totally priceless. Wont work for most people, it's just a stick for most. No additives. Just sea serpent cocoon—wizard wood, as it's called in some places. Very powerful in the right hands and, like I say, useless for others.'

James swished then flicked. A plume of voluptuous flame mushroomed from out from the tip much the same way a sheet might as you shook it out over a bed. Salem's jaw dropped.

'Why not give me one of those, dratty old man!' Salem growled sternly and very loudly.

Ollivander barked. '_WOULDN'T WORK FOR THE LIKES OF YOU, BOY!_ Here, try this one. I'm sure it'll work. Basilisk scale. Harvested from the guts of Hogwarts itself.'

Salem swished and flicked. It cracked Ollivander's spectacles.

'Satisfying enough," said Salem before handing over the allotted fee and taking a wand care manual. They left together.

'So, what have you got to get still.'

James thought for a bit. 'Well, I was hoping to go to the Magical Menagerie to get a cat next.'

'Neat. I'll come along too. I want to get a raven.'


	3. ch 3 apocalypse

I think that this chapter is the most boring so far so, necessarily in my opinion, it is subsequently the shortest. It does however deal with major plot drivers and, in all honesty, it just seems too "then they did this, then they did this, then they did this," to be all that interesting, but it is important. I try my best to make the way I've written it to be the most enjoyable part, and I bring in a few new concepts so it shouldn't be too painful :D It's in its beta stages, so It'll get updates, but thus far I can't seem to rake anything else out of it... :s

Apocalypse

So together they went and together they would stay for the entirety of James's schooling years. But this is not to say that they didn't have their difficulties! Little did they know that they were about to embark on a series of adventures that would change the face of their world! But not yet—we are not up to that part of their story. They still had much to achieve, even that very day, and seven full years of school to attend before their true paths would call to them.

So, shoes scuffling on the cobble stone path, shoelaces tied up neatly, hems sowed up off the ground and arms swinging by their sides they left Ollivander's wand shop behind them and weaved their way through the crowd till they found themselves at the front doorstep of the magical menagerie where their pets were to be found.

A pet is a very special thing for a wizard or witch. That's why Hogwarts allowed their students to keep them. It wasn't a usual thing for schools to allow pets—of course not! But these, one would say, were not the usual circumstances. For, whether it is because of their affinity to nature or their metaphysical make up, animals are much more naturally tuned into "the forces that be" than the average human. They may not aspire to great heights of wizardry, nor be they able to perform the most simple anti-jinxing charm, but they do have a keen 6th sense for danger and, even now, if you were alone and if they considered you a trustworthy, kind human, you could swear you could hear them talking to one another—but none of that was going to go on today, not in the slightest, for when Salem and James walked into that fine establishment that day they were bombarded with the most jungle-like orchestra that they'd ever had the misfortune of hearing. The cats barked, the dogs cheeped—and somewhere to the back there was a loud snorting, oinking noise, followed by a squeal—and there were many other indefinable noises that married into new, alien hybrids mid-air that would defy belief had they been anywhere else in the world but that very place. But there they were, and James followed Salem's lead into the midst of it.

The inside of the establishment was jumbled and totally unclean. The floor was thick with hay and littered with bird feces and rabbit droppings. A dustpan and brush busied itself somewhere near the scorpion cage but to little avail. Cages were everywhere, stacked up and teetering. James would have sworn he was in the middle of a zoo but for the types of animals that surrounded him. He focused himself and looked around for the cats.

Eventually he found them in the back left corner. They were in a glass cage which begun about waist high, and was floored with shredded newspaper, people in the pictures peered about the place through the small slivers. The cats were mostly black but James saw a navy blue one curled up on the bed. He looked so cute there, sleeping. He thought for a moment for a name for it.

Apocalypse, he thought—Poc for short.

The cat looked up, gave a perfunctory meowth, then flopped his little head back onto his front paws. James felt bad about having to lift him out of the bed, but the little blue cat didn't seem to mind overly as took it as an opportune moment to start cleaning itself.

The pretty witch at the front was talking to Salem when James reached her.

'So Jester will still deliver letters just like an owl would?' Salem asked. The raven was perched on his shoulder, polishing his beak in the eleven year old boys oily blonde hair.

'Sure. Only, he won be able to deliver newspapers and the heavier items. Just your average letter...'

The raven cawed. 'That's fine, I'll take him.' He gave her some coins and she gave him a cage.

Elyza turned to James. 'And how can I help you?'

'Just this one, please.' He presented Apocalypse.

'One galleon, sweety,' she smiled.

He paid it and they left.

Florish and Blotts was just across the street from the magical menagerie so that was their next destination, or so James thought, but as they approached it Salem walked right past it. James stopped at the foot of the door and looked in. It was packed. There seemed to be some kind of book signing going on. Salem called back to him.

'Oh, right, you want to go get some books.'

James shrugged. 'Well, it's right here, I just thought…'

Salem rubbed his chin thoughtfully and peered through the window. 'It is rather packed right now.' he nodded to himself. 'Well, how does this sound. You come along with me to my uncles shop for a bit, then we can get our books when it's a little less crowded.'

James was being bumped every few seconds by people going to and from the book store, and he didn't think waiting would make the bookstore any less crowded, but he paced quickly up to Salem's side anyway.

Salem's uncle's shop James discovered, through some probing, was a tattoo shop in knock turn alley. James should have known that something was about to go wrong, he should have remembered that strange luck begets more strange luck. As he followed this strange boy Salem Malfoy, whom he'd only just met, through the streets Apocalypse dug his claws into his arms, but how could he have known that he was being warned? How could he have predicted the disastrous consequences which would ensue because of that very trip?

There were reasons that James was forbidden to go into knock turn alley. The rule was that, unless accompanied by an adult, or in today's case Teddy, he was forbidden to take that left turn down into the dark wizards realm. His mother Ginny didn't mind too much, but his father Harry had a paranoia about the type of people down there kidnapping James, or hurting him in some way, which seemed to James a bit extreme—just because Harry had stopped Lord Voldemort all these years ago didn't mean that every dark wizard on the face of the planet was out to harm him! But a rule was a rule, and James couldn't help but feel a bit guilty as he took the crooked little stairs that led into the gritty side alley.

On the walls, all the way down the stairs, there were posters of the scariest, craziest looking people James had ever seen. They were "wanted posters." The stairs were called the "stairway to hell," because of all the wanted posters and where the stairs lead to. The aurors for some reason thought that they were more likely to catch wind of the criminals if they put the posters where they'd likely hang out. James had always thought that the people who would see these posters wouldn't likely hand anybody in because they were likely criminals themselves. Kind of a catch-22.

One poster caught his eye.

Sumauelle Esun  
Wanted over unethical dealings with muggles  
Reward of 100 galleons on capture

This poster was very out of the ordinary and it actually stopped James in his tracks for a few moments so his eyes could take in what his mind couldn't believe. Here, in amongst the crudest of all wizarding kind, was the most clean cut, professional looking individual that one could ever hope to lay eyes on; that one could reasonably hope to conceive, even. Long black hair, a sharp, thin nose, a chiselled jaw. He looked charismatic and smiled warmly. James looked closer and into his eyes and found, however, that his eyes didn't resonate with the same warmness. They were as cold as stone, gleaming in the dim light. There was a sinister edge to this man that he hadn't spotted before. Perhaps he really did belong on the walls of the stairway to hell. Sumauelle Esun. James had never heard of him before. He hadn't been in any of the papers. He found himself suddenly wondered what "unethical dealings with muggles" meant.

When they walked into Terrorizing Tattoos, Salem's uncle Roger Greengrass was half way through a tattoo. He had a purple smoke burbling wizard's pipe in his mouth which jiggled as he looked up to see what had triggered the charmed bell that was rigged to the doorway.

'Kiddo! Just wait a few moments, almost done 'ere.' The man was tattooed from head to toe. There were dragons, demon ladies, crucifixes, skulls and other similarly terrifying images of death, disease and mayhem. Roger wasn't quite as tattooed, but he was a little more conservative looking than this very large, very bearded man that was being worked on at that point in time. The place was covered from floor to ceiling with posters of heavy metal bands and to the back were lounge chairs where a few younger looking wizards sat smoking pipes which spurted acidic fumes that milled around the couches. Roger noticed Salem and James just standing there and felt pity for them.

'Boys, wait out back. Find yerselves something to read.' He threw his head over his shoulder

'AND CAN YOU LOT SMOKE THAT SOMEWHERE ELSE!'

He nodded to the boys with an apologetic smile on his face, then got back to his work.

Salem gestured with his head and James followed him behind the counter and into the back. Margery, Rogers wife, was sitting with her legs up on another chair, filing down her nails. 'Hey Salem, sweetie. Who's yer friend yer got there?'

'Hi Marg. Oh, this? This is James.' He nodded to himself, satisfied with his answer to her query, perhaps weighing up whether he should tell her the full name. James hoped he didn't but suspected anyway that this Malfoy boy would be more clever than that!

'We're both starting school this year.'

'Is that right?' she looked up from her nails and peered at James from over her spectacles. The movement made her earrings tinkle and jangle.

'M-hm,' James replied.

Margery stretched her arm out, lent back and inspected her cuticles before looking back to James keenly.

'They'll be the best years of your life. Mark my words, boy. After, you'll have to work for yer living, instead of just god-damned doing magic tricks all the time.

James smiled timidly and found it hard to look her directly in the eyes.

'You and Roge met at Hogwarts, didn't you, Marg—' that, Salem.

'Sure did. Best years of my life.'

James didn't doubt it. She looked a woman who wouldn't be too inspired by the prospects of working.

Salem picked up a magazine and resigned himself to its written comforts while meanwhile James was left hanging in the presence of the two obviously preoccupied strangers with no hint as to how he should behave himself. Inside his large robe pocket Apocalypse was purring away happily and warming James's belly.

The room was small and not as thoroughly decorated by posters and tattoo pictures, but it was obvious that some care had been taken in the choosing of these posters. The strange thing about it was that there were many muggle bands among the lot. James had thought that Wizards as a rule were only interested in wizarding affairs. With the exception of himself, of course—but James was different from other wizards.

That was when he spotted it. It was called Grizzlegut's guide to spirit tattoos by Edmund Grizzlegut. He picked it up. There was a picture of two dragons on the front cover who circled eachother and blew flame about the front canvas which set off smoke now and then. He opened it and on the inside cover there was something scrawled in perfect gothic cursive.

To Roge.

Thanks for the gnarly tattoo's dude, I'll never go to anybody else for my ink, you're the best!

Edmund Grizzlegut

He flicked past a few pages of publishing details and found the introduction.

The art of spirit tattoo's

_Spirit tattooing is a form of tattooing, using magic, that has a number of applications for the wizard game enough to get one. There are a few different forms of spirit tattooing but the method is all the same. The first aspect of spirit tattooing is where a tattooist can capture a meddling spirit that is possessing or bothering a client in a drawing. The client can then choose to sell the spirit to the tattooist for a small fee or get the tattoo in order to harness the power of that spirit. Alternately, a tattooist can go about the countryside, capturing rogue spirits, to then channel into a tattoo, and every tattooist must do this in order to survive. This book will outline all the methods a tattooist will need to have in order to be a successful wizard tattooist._

James flicked through a few more pages and looked fleetingly at a few of the drawings in the book before he was interrupted by Roger calling them from the other room.

Salem and James dropped what they were doing and filed rather obediently out of the office and into the main parlor. Salem and his uncle Roger embraced.

"How's your mum?"

"Fine, fine."

They were doing a lot of smiling and nodding at each other and seemed to have forgotten James presence at all. Or so James thought, until Roger Turned and faced him, hands on hips, looking him up and down.

"So, who's your new friend, Salem?"

"Who, this? This is James. A good mate of mine—" His eyes gleamed, "—we've known each other all of five minutes!" Salem declared this like it was the most fabulous of jokes. James begun feeling a little woozy and there was a pang in his left wrist, the wrist with his new bracelet—like a _warning_ pang—and he realized the full importance of where he was right now, and the severity of who he was with!

He swallowed his stomach back down from his throat, wondering exactly how he had got to be in this unfamiliar and dangerous world. He knew how he'd got there of course, but didn't know how he'd let himself _get_ there. He stuck out his hand, making sure that with the gesture he was as much part of this conversation as the other two.

"Nice to meet ya, lad," cried Rodger. He was all of every kind of happy until they clasped in a hand shake… Then Rodger became stunned like he'd just seen a crush he'd had as a teenager walk in the front door. His eyes widened and he let his clasp on James's hand slide free.

"OOo, this is a big one!" he said, then snuck around to the table behind a curtain where there were all sorts of objects of the trade lying in a pile next to the inks and magazines. He selected what looked like a metal detector that security officers carry at air ports and begun waving it along the length of James' body.

'Hm, hm,' he was saying.

Salem was looking at james, rearranging his mouth and his pose and his hands, which he was waving around in all sorts of ways, as if he was trying to say something (that carried for him the greatest of excitements) but was unable to put it into words: 'He, you…"

The gadget started beeping just over his chest, Rodger swiveled his pipe to the other side of his mouth.

"interesting…"

Rodger grabbed his pad and a feather quill.

"Lick this, please"

He was holding out the quill to James' face.

Salem was watching, awestruck, eyes as big as drops of candy.

James smiled weirdly, kind of embarrassed, then licked the quill in confusion. Rodger smiled to himself then nodded to no one in particular, but then what he did was raised his hands to the air and closed his eyes, then when he opened his eyes his pupils and iris' were glaze over with light blue, as if he had cataracts. Then he started sketching.

James was watching with a keen interest the spectacle of Salem's uncle, Rodger, scratch at the paper whilst in some kind of trance, then he noticed something all together more interesting—than the quill was using no ink but a strange vapor that was being sucked out of James's body itself. Rodger was looking up and down, looking at James with those eyes that James suspected were something like x-ray goggles, spying whatever spirit that lay beneath his skin.

A spirit sketch! Funny, though. James hadn't felt himself possessed of any spirit.

Then Rodger was still. His eyes slowly lost their gloss and his eyes were trained onto what he'd just drawn, something like fear in his features, and indeed his brow was sweaty.

"Boys… I—I have to close up now." He was ushering them, well actually pushing them towards the door, and with the flick of a wand he had turned the sign for the shop around so that it read, quite clearly, _closed_.

"But Uncle, the money! the sketch!"

Rodger nodded in the way that one did when they were actually otherwise occupied, with a nod, a shake and a mutter, and this time a wipe of his brow as well. He reached into his pocket and scrounged out three galleons, much too much for a single exorcism, but before James could protest he and Salem were out the door and the door was shut.


End file.
